Decisions
by BobR
Summary: In which an Event forces an old priest to make a difficult decision.


Disclaimer

Tenchi and all associated characters are the property of AIC and Pioneer LDC.  I don't own any rights to them.  Any other characters are property of their respective copyright holders, not me.

*****

Decisions

*****

1940

Heads turned and eyes followed the old Shinto priest as he walked down the hallway in the Ministry of War offices.  He'd come to find out if rumors he'd heard about atrocities being performed by the Army overseas were true, and if they were he was planning on lodging a formal protest; he was not without influence higher in the government after all.  His purple eyes, considered odd by some, spotted a familiar face emerging from a doorway further down the corridor and he quickened his step to greet an old friend.

"Isoroku," the old man bowed to the other.  "How nice to see you again."

The younger man's eyes twinkled with humor as he returned the gesture.  "Ah, good to see you again as well, Old Man.  I swear, you haven't aged a bit in what… ten years?  Has it really been that long?"

The priest smiled and eyed neatly pressed white fabric and the gold braid on the other's uniform.  "Yes, ten years.  And look at you, a full Admiral now."

"And in command of the entire Fleet," the Admiral said proudly.

"Actually, I knew that.  I may be old, but I'm not senile.  And the occasional newspaper does manage to blow out to the shrine when the wind is right.  Congratulations on your advancement."  The priest bowed again.

"Thank you.  From one such as you that means much to me.  So, what brings you all the way to the capital, Old Man?" the man in the neat white uniform asked.

The priest started to explain but the other quickly quieted him and with a furtive look, took his arm and led him into an empty office.  The Admiral shut the door and made sure he heard the latch click before turning around.  "Listen, what you have heard…  most of it is probably true, and if not actively sanctioned, then certainly officially overlooked.  If you raise questions about it, then I'm afraid that not even your influence would keep you out of prison."

The old man hung his head in shame.  "So it's come to this, has it?  A citizen can't even voice his opinion openly without fear of reprisal."

The officer smiled sadly.  "No, it's always been like that.  But up in your distant mountains things are different.  And like myself, you've spent too much time amongst other cultures.  They influence our thoughts and ideas.  Japan is… well, still feudal in some ways, and such as we have no voice."

"I… see.  Perhaps you're right.  But you Admiral, how do you feel about this?"

The Admiral wearily sat down next to his old friend and thought a moment before answering.  "I certainly don't condone such actions, and these things have been a part of war since time began.  But, that's really not what you're asking, is it?"

The old man shook his head.  

"Ah, I see," the other answered.  "Well, I like to think that my Navy still holds some honor, that they're above committing such acts.  As far as I know, none of my people have been involved."

The priest nodded and stood up.  "I believe you.  It seems my trip here has been pointless if to mention my concerns is to place myself in danger.  I shall return home.  It was good to see you again old friend."

The Admiral stood and blocked the other's way with an outstretched arm.  "Wait," he said with a small smile.  "Tomorrow's soon enough for you to leave.  You must spend the evening with me; who knows when we'll get another chance to talk."

The old priest raised an eyebrow.  "You aren't planning one of your famous card games, are you?  I didn't bring much money with me on this trip."

The officer snorted in derision.  "As I recall, the last time we played, the last _two_ times we played, _you_ ended up taking the pot."

The old man snickered, a youthful sound belying his appearance.  "American poker has always been one of my favorites, and the Western 'Chess' as well.  Very well, I'm in.  But you have an ulterior motive, don't you?"

"Indeed.  I want to pick your brains.  I've been tasked to develop some first-strike battle plans and who better to confer with than a famous warrior."

The priest shook his head.  "No.  It's been too long since I've been a warrior, I'm a man of peace now."

"A leopard can't change its spots.  But come, we'll eat, drink, play some cards with some friends and perhaps, just perhaps, I can learn something new from you.  Something from a faraway land and a long ago time."  The Admiral, in an uncharacteristic gesture, winked conspiratorially and ushered his guest towards the door.

Out in the hallway a young ensign rushed up to the pair and bowed, gasping for breath.  "Admiral Yamamoto, we've been looking everywhere for you.  Your presence is requested in the Planning Room."

The Admiral sighed in resignation, then smiled.  "Obviously not everywhere, Ichiro.  As you can see, I'm right here.  I'll head down to Planning immediately."  He turned to the old priest.  "Old friend, it seems an Admiral's job is never done.  I'll see you this evening."  To the young ensign he said, "Take my friend to my home please, and see to his needs.  I'll be having four or five other guests tonight as well, please tell my housekeeper.  Oh, and Ichiro, if you have no other plans, you are welcome to join us.  Informally of course.  Bring plenty of money."

The ensign's eyes lit up; to be invited to one of the Admiral's famous poker games was an honor indeed.  He bowed so deeply that the old priest thought his head would touch the floor.  "Thank you sir," the ensign said in an awed tone.  Surely the invitation must be a sign of favor from the gods.

*****

The next day, on the first part of the long train ride back to Okayama, the old priest had plenty of time to reflect on the conversation of the evening before. There had been six of them playing cards and between the Admiral and himself they had taken everything but the clothes off the backs of two vice-admirals, a captain and one poorer but wiser ensign.  The Admiral had informed him, much to the chagrin of the others, that the Imperial Government wished to plan a series of preemptive attacks on various powers, including the United States, if it came to war.  The Priest had found himself agreeing with his old friend that if a war were to happen, air power was essential for victory.  But the others around the table chose to disagree, placing their faith in the Imperial Navy and Army, as the Government did.

The Admiral repeated a rumor he had heard that the U.S. was planning on ordering its Pacific Fleet out of San Diego and to Hawaii.  If so, that move would put a very powerful force of potential enemies that much closer to the Japanese homeland.  The priest had stated several times that he hoped war could be avoided; the Admiral had agreed but the others had dissented or remained silent.  

At one point during the evening, the Admiral had had the ensign fetch an atlas with a map of the Pacific region.  For the benefit of the others, the Admiral had pointed out Hawaii, Indonesia and the Philippines, as potential targets if a war were to begin.  Each officer, including the ensign, was asked where he would choose to attack first.  Three pointed to Hawaii; one, the ensign, touched a finger to the Philippines.  When the priest was asked politely to point out his preference, he didn't hesitate.  His finger immediately went to a small, American-held island halfway between Hawaii and the Philippines, Midway Island.  The vice-admirals chuckled and even the captain and ensign smiled; but the Admiral nodded sagely.  When asked to explain his odd choice, he replied that without Midway, the Americans would have to ship all their men and supplies by boat to any point in the eastern Pacific, making them prey to surface and submarine raiding.  With Midway in American hands, needed supplies could be flown in using the island as a refueling and stopover point, much as Pan American Airways currently did.  Once again the Admiral nodded and even one or two of the vice-admirals had contemplative looks on their faces.

The party had broken up shortly after that, with a couple of the players claiming early duty and the ensign claiming poverty.  For several hours after the others had left, the Admiral and the old priest had sat sipping sake and discussing various scenarios that might occur if war happened.  Neither saw any good coming of it and both agreed that if it was to come, Japan must win it within the first year or not win at all; Japan's economy and resources couldn't support a prolonged war.

The priest was dozing as the train pulled into the station in Kobe.  It was late, and the train to Okayama didn't leave until morning.  He made his weary way through the city to one of the local temples and arranged with the priest there to spend the night.  The man was an acquaintance of his and they spent several pleasant hours catching up.  The next morning he caught the train to Okayama and from there hired a wagon to take him home.

*****

1942

The war with America that he had feared had finally come; planned and led by his old friend.  Fortunately Japan seemed to be winning and perhaps, just perhaps it would be a short, victorious war.

Such was not to be.  

Over the next three years the old priest seldom left his temple.  He presided over several weddings and many, too many, funerals.  He couldn't help but shed an occasional tear as he said comforting words to families of young men, brothers, sons and fathers, that he had known since they'd been born.  He prayed nightly for the war to end soon.

*****

July 1945

The old priest slowly climbed the stairway to the shrine.  A distant droning noise made him glance up and high in the sky his rheumy eyes caught the glint of sunlight on silver wings.  Another American raid, probably headed for the shipyards at Kobe again.  He shook his head in wonder.  By now he'd have thought that the docks and slips where the great warships had been built were nothing but so much rubble.  Once again, for the sake of any worshippers who might be in earshot, he thanked his honorable ancestors for the fact that he was leagues away from anything that the Americans might consider a worthwhile target.

Reaching the top of the stairs, the priest stretched his back before entering the small shrine courtyard.  The young village boy who was normally sweeping this time of day was nowhere to be seen as another formation of American bombers passed high overhead.  The Japanese Army Air Corps was totally ineffective since their best and brightest pilots had been squandered in thoughtless campaigns against the much better equipped Americans.  His old friend Isoroku had been absolutely correct when he'd warned against waking the "sleeping giant" that was the United States.  Now Yamamoto was dead and Japan itself was in danger of being invaded by the massive armies of her enemies.  

The priest had nothing against the Americans, per se; he'd spent many years there, and in Western Europe before assuming his current duties.  In fact, he rather liked Americans, most of those he'd met were open and honest.  He sighed.  All this introspection was wonderful, but it solved nothing.  The priest entered the shrine, ready to perform his daily duties.

The day passed uneventfully as a few worshippers, much less than before the war, visited the remote temple in the hills.  The old priest managed to greet each and every one of them with a friendly smile and words of encouragement.  Although he never asked, he kept his keen old ears open for any news of the way the war was going.  By doing this, he was always able to judge his visitor's attitudes toward the government and the war effort.  He was not surprised at how they had changed over the last year or so, many people were tired of the fighting and only wanted things to return to normal.

The sun was setting as he bid the final visitor good-bye and told the boy he could leave.  He reminded the lad that he expected him early the next day, the shrine steps needed a good sweeping and that usually took the lad half a day to accomplish.  As the boy disappeared down the stairs, promising he'd be back first thing in the morning, the old man thought that in another year or so, his helper would be of draft age and then would become cannon fodder as so many others had.

After performing the evening ritual, he entered the small living area set off to one side.  The loneliness of the place struck him as he lit the oil lamps and tossed a small piece of coal into the embers of the stove's firebox.  Then he made sure that the curtains were tight against the window frames; the Americans seldom bombed at night anymore, but there were occasional fighter raids and he really didn't want to be a target of opportunity.  Putting a kettle of water on the now hot stove, he opened the box that a village woman given him for his dinner.  Rice and fish.  Again.  Well, that was to be expected what with food rationing and all.  Still, he could hardly remember the last time he'd tasted beef.  Or pork.  Occasionally he'd find chicken in his meal, but not as often as in the past.  At least he suspected it was chicken.  

He sat down and began to eat.  Not as good as his long-dead wife used to make, but he'd had worse as well.  It had been too long since a woman had graced his home, he might have to do something about that fairly soon.  But what woman would want an old man for a husband?  Hmmmm.  Now that might be a problem.  Or not.  Maybe it was time for a new priest at the shrine, a much younger one.  He'd have to think about it, but not tonight, there was a book that he'd been wanting to finish for weeks and hadn't gotten around to because of this or that happening.  But tonight… tonight was for reading.  And now the kettle was hissing, he could make a pot of his favorite tea and relax with his book.  He wondered what tomorrow would bring; he hoped it would be as peaceful as today had been.

*****

August 5, 1945

The priest watched contentedly as the sun began to peek over the trees.  Another beautiful day, he thought.  He enjoyed watching the sunrise, it wasn't often anymore that he was up early enough to actually catch it.  But today… today something had woken him.  And at the moment he was glad, for although there was a vicious war being fought, during this peaceful moment everything seemed right with the world.  

As the day passed, he greeted the few old friends that were hale enough to make the long walk and climb to visit him.  Since the war had started, the number of visitors had been growing steadily less with each passing year.  It seemed that no one wanted to visit some obscure shrine out in the middle of nowhere, everybody these days had their own business to attend to, most of it dealing with the war effort.  The more time he had to himself, the more his thoughts kept drifting back to the war.  

He counted himself lucky that he had no close relatives that were eligible for military service.  He knew that some of his descendants were most likely fighting and dying at the moment, but all of that was in the distant past.  An older village woman interrupted his contemplation to compliment him on the upkeep of the shrine.  She told him that she remembered coming there as a little girl and that he had certainly kept the place nice and neat, just like the previous priest.  He smiled and bowed politely, then told her of the boy that helped him.  What he didn't say was that he remembered her from those long-ago days, a precocious young girl that was always running off from her parents and getting lost in the woods.  They chit chatted idly for a few moments, then she excused herself, saying that she must leave in order to be home in time to prepare the evening meal for her husband.  The old priest wondered which young village lad had been lucky enough to catch the beautiful young girl he remembered so well.

He called the boy into the shrine office and told him to start scrubbing down the stones in the courtyard, after which he could go home.  The young man eagerly took to his task and once again the old man wondered at a world that could so thoughtlessly waste the lives of such as he.  But such contemplation was depressing and day was a beautiful one, much too nice to be thinking of such things.  Because there weren't many visitors this day, the priest decided to spend some time out in the fresh air, writing poetry.  His works were very popular with the local villagers.

*****

August 6, 1945

8:15AM

Deep in the forest a Tree screamed. 

The priest, startled by the waves of pain he sensed, jumped to his feet and crashed through the rice-paper door of the office.  Looking east, the direction indicated by the pain, he could see no immediate reason for the Tree to react so violently.  His sudden agility belying his ancient appearance, he rushed through the forest to the small pond, in the center of which grew the holy tree of the shrine.  Quickly crossing the stepping-stones, he laid a withered hand on the coarse trunk of his old friend.  Tapping into the Tree's memories and sensor-net he tried to determine what had happened.

And then he saw the images.  A bright flash; men, women and children being reduced to ashes in an instant; skin sloughing off survivors; the smell of burnt flesh and hair was overpowering.  And he could see and feel it all through the Tree's senses.  He collapsed in a heap between two of the larger roots, sobbing because he knew what had to happen now.

"Goddess!" the priest thought and then banged his fist against the Tree.  He'd known that the Americans were working on such a device, the Tree had warned him when they had detonated the first test.  But he never thought they'd actually use it, destruction on such a scale was terrible to contemplate.  He'd also known, through his government contacts that the Germans had been on the trail of the nuclear genie as well.  And he'd been inordinately pleased when he'd learned of the destruction of their research facilities.  He didn't doubt for a moment that they'd use it against their enemies, but the Americans… He'd always hoped that their research would lead to peaceful use of that power, that the mere threat of such a weapon would be enough.  He started to weep.  "They actually used the damn thing," he whispered.  "Why?  They must've known we were beaten, that the war could only last a few more months…  Why use it now?  I'm not ready, it's too soon… too soon."  Mentally exhausted by all he had seen and felt, he fell asleep between the Tree's great roots.

When he awoke the sun was lowering in the western sky and the Tree, called Funaho after the priest's mother, was silent, it's pain easing as the day ended.  The old priest gathered himself together and stood up, leaning against his ancient friend for support while the blood flowed back into his legs.  He knew what he had to do according to the vision he'd been granted all those many long years before.  First on the list, a visit with _another_ old friend.

*****

August 7, 1945

The cave was darker and much cooler than he remembered, but again, it had been decades since he was last down in its depths.  He stood at the edge of the pool and looked down on the sleeping form submerged beneath the Waters of Life, the beautiful face of his ancient enemy hidden behind a demon mask.  Soon, he thought.  Soon it will be time for you to awaken and be reborn.  But first I must prepare.  

The priest stepped over to an unnaturally smooth area of the cave wall and placed his palm against it.  The area shone dull blue for an instant as sensors read his genetic code then a hidden panel slid open revealing a touch pad and several indicators, all of which were glowing green.  The old priest keyed in a sequence on the pad and several of the indicators changed to orange.  He stepped back to the pool, the panel sliding silently shut behind him.  Looking down at the submerged figure again he said quietly, "There.  Soon you'll be able to sense your surroundings and slowly, ever so slowly, you'll gain the ability to extend your mind into the outside world.  When the time is right, you'll fully awaken and find _him_ waiting for you."  He turned and left the containment area without a backward glance.  It was time for his daily duties at the shrine.

Today, unsurprisingly, there were many more visitors than there had been in quite a while.  Both the priest and his young assistant were kept busy seeing to the needs of worshipers, most of who were elderly.  He listened politely but offered nothing but kind words in return.  Because of the Tree, he knew more about the events of the day before than any of the visitors; still, all he could offer them were kind words of encouragement.  He wasn't angry and for the most part, neither were any of the others.  The shock was still too fresh in their minds to feel anger.  Many wondered if Japan could still defeat the Americans.  He didn't have the heart to tell them that they'd lost that opportunity long before.

*****

August 9, 1945

11:02 AM

A shudder passed through the great Tree but this time the pain was less, for the injury was much more distant.  The old man looked up at the waving branches and a tear escaped his eye as he laid a hand on the Tree.  The horrific images from a distant seaport town invaded his mind.  

Why?  Wasn't once enough?  He'd seen it happen before: a government with its new "toy" had to use it.  And from simple fission would come fusion, then eventually total destruction.  He'd been a warrior; he'd seen destruction more massive than anything this world was now capable of.  That was one of the reasons he'd left home, but certainly not the only one nor the greatest.  He had to smile though, at the irony of it all.  She-who-slept-in-the-cave had probably killed more innocents than both of the American devices combined and he had been able to forgive her; he could certain forgive the Americans. 

When the last visitor of the day had reluctantly departed, the old priest made his weary way into the office and sagged gratefully to the floor near the table.  Now it was time to start part two.  He uncorked an ink bottle and took a clean sheet of paper off the neat stack on the table.  He began to write.

The priest finished writing the letter and lay down his pen.  When the ink was dry he called his young helper into the office.  Showing him the missive, he explained to the lad.  "Given the events of a few days ago, I've decided to retire and travel to Hiroshima to give what comfort I can.  A new, younger priest will be sent to take over my duties.  I would like to wait for him to arrive but it is not to be.  Can you see that he gets this letter when he arrives?"

The boy nodded mutely.  With a wan smile, the old priest stood and patted him on the head.  "You're a good lad.  Now, run along and finish your duties, I won't be leaving for a few days.  It's a long walk to town for these old legs and the trains these days are seldom on time anyway."

*****

August 10, 1945

The event the prior day confirmed in the old priest's mind the series of actions he'd set into motion.  He now saw no alternative, not that there had really been one to begin with.  The goddess had told him, in his vision, that once the people of this planet had gained the means to annihilate themselves, it was time.  Time to bring Galactic Civilization back to this speck of dirt.  At least that's what he thought the dream meant, the goddess hadn't actually said as much.

He carefully packed a small bag with all of his worldly possessions and left the living area without a backwards glance.  The sun was just peeking over the distant hills as he started down the long staircase leading from the shrine.  On the way down he passed several people heading up.  He paused with each long enough to say his goodbyes and to assure them that the new caretaker would be arriving in a day or so.  All wished him well and hoped that he would return someday, if just for a visit.  His response was to shake his head and tell them it was unlikely.

The old priest reached the bottom of the steps and after catching his breath he hefted his meager luggage and started off down the road in the direction of the village.  About two kilometers later he glanced around and saw that no one was near so he quietly left the dirt track and disappeared into the forest.  He was never seen again.

*****

September 2, 1945

The great battleships were gathered in Tokyo harbor.  On board the USS Iowa, the formal treaty of surrender was signed by representatives of the Imperial Government and witnessed by the victorious Americans.  Somewhere in the crowd of spectators and invited guests was a young bespectacled man in the robes of a Shinto priest.  When the signing was over, he turned sadly away and started on the long journey home through a land that he knew had narrowly escaped total devastation.  His numbed mind remembered old departed friends and he wondered what had ever become of that young ensign.  Probably dead like all the rest.

*****

September 26, 1945

Late in the afternoon, the young man in priest's garb slowly climbed the long stairs to the shrine.  He was met at the top by the young boy and handed the letter that the old man had left.  Smiling kindly, he thanked the lad and sent him on his way.  A woman, sent by the village elders to clean the place for the new man, after news of the old priest's leaving had reached them, greeted him at the entrance to the living area.  He thanked her as well and told her how much he approved of the job she'd done.  The woman smiled gratefully and bowed, then left him to unpack the few belongings he'd brought.  The priest gently slid the door shut, them proceeded to empty his bag, carefully placing everything back in the exact same position it had occupied just a few weeks earlier.

When he was satisfied that things were proper, he left the living area and began to examine his 'new' home, like any new occupant might.  Over the course of the day, the new priest managed to poke his head into every part of the shrine grounds, even entering the forbidden cave for a short while.  When he came out, he had a thoughtful expression on his handsome young face.  It seemed that things were just as they should be.  Carefully locking the iron gate behind him, he pushed his glasses back up onto his nose and smiled secretively, then walked back along the short path to the shrine itself.

As the sun set that evening, he made his way to where the Holy Tree stood, in a small island in the center of a pond.  Crossing the stepping-stones, he smiled as the Tree greeted him with a musical note.  He looked up at the stars just starting to appear and his eyes were drawn to one in particular.  He sighed.  Yes, it was time.  Putting both hands against the Tree, he gave the command.  With another musical note, beams of multicolored light flowed from the leaves and bouncing off the reflective surface of the pond, formed a single column that shot skyward and eventually disappeared into the vacuum of space, headed for that lonely star.

She would get the message.  She would come.  She'd been waiting a long time for his call to join him in his self-imposed exile, no matter how brief her stay would have to be.  It was all a part of the vision the goddess had granted him all those years ago, a vision of things to come.  He just hadn't expected it so soon.  But he still had time.  She-Who-Slept wouldn't actually awaken for several decades yet, although she'd grow more and more aware of her surroundings as the time passed.  His brief exam of her containment earlier had already shown increased brain activity.  He chuckled.  She certainly was a fighter.

And after She-Who-Slept awoke, then the others would come and the goddess's plan would be put into motion.  He just wished he knew more about what it was, surely there was more to it than finding a girlfriend for a boy yet to be born.  He touched the Tree again, but it couldn't or wouldn't give him any more information.  With a sigh, Masaki Katsuhito turned and walked back to the lonely, although soon to be less so, shrine.

*****

The End

*****

First of all, I'd like to apologize if I've offended anyone with this story.  

Not.  

The idea behind this fic is actually the first fic idea I ever had: What was Katsuhito doing on the day the bomb was dropped (Hiroshima's not all that far from Okayama after all) and could it have been that which started everything.  But for various reasons I've been loathe to write it.  Until now.  Well, actually even now, but here it is anyway.

So take this story for what it's meant to be.  Entertainment.  The views expressed in here do not necessarily reflect my own or that of the actual people involved, but rather what the character of Katsuhito might be thinking after living and traveling on Earth for 700 years.  There are no statements being made here, no hidden meanings or agendas.  If you don't like it, I'll accept the blame; if you do like it, I'll certainly take the blame for that as well.

And finally, I'd like to once again thank Ministry Agent for allowing me to use him as a sounding board.  Without him and his vast knowledge of arcane subjects, this story (and many of my others) would be much worse than they are.

*****

BobR

11/19/2003


End file.
